


Count Them

by TheTriggeredHappy



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Happy, I just love these two okay, M/M, cute gay space marines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTriggeredHappy/pseuds/TheTriggeredHappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons and Grif sit under a tree. Grif is distracted. Simmons doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count Them

The sun, as it likely had for centuries now, baked the clay of Blood Gulch, cracking it like a stone through a window. The heat was oppressive, even under the tree Grif and Simmons had claimed. For once, Grif had been able to convince Simmons to take off his helmet, if only because it was so hot that the visors were fogging up. The thinner of the two rested his head in the other’s lap, eyes closed as Grif tangled his fingers in his red hair, ignoring the sweat clinging to his bangs.

 

Grif pondered for several moments on the freckles that turned the pieces of his face still retaining skin into constellations. The Dutch-Irish man, when he first came to the Gulch, had skin that was as blank as fresh canvas, with perhaps a stray freckle beginning to form at the base of his nose and on his forearms. But now, it was ragged with metal, steel clean enough to practically become a mirror, his still mercifully intact cheek coated with freckles. Big, small, dark, light, clustering and fading and forming. Once or twice, he tried to count them, but every time he would be interrupted as Simmons opened his eyes and turned his face away, blush hiding the small dots, making his work impossible.

 

Simmons had changed a bit since getting to Blood Gulch. His arms now retained some muscle. His shoulders held higher, his hair slightly lighter, and now these freckles. How dare he change, Grif thought to himself.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Simmons asked quietly.

 

Grif realized his hand had stilled, and he inhaled smoothly, exhaled.

 

“Freckles, mostly.”

 

His smile did that thing that Grif liked, twitching upward uncertainly, shifting, falling, then reasserting itself. He always did that. Grif wanted to see it more. That’s why he always pestered Simmons to ditch the helmet. Freckles, sun-bleached still-red hair, and that smile. “What time is it?”

 

Grif looked up, squinting at the sky. “It’s been… maybe an hour?”

 

“We have work to do,” Simmons said, but Grif’s fingers started moving again, untangling, tangling, untangling. “Sarge will get mad.”

 

“Sarge is always mad,” Grif reasoned. Simmons went silent again.

 

_One, two, three, four…_

 

Simmons tilted his neck slightly, stretching. “Stop moving around, I’m trying to concentrate,” Grif protested. Simmons stilled.

 

“On what?”

 

“I’m counting.” _Five, six, seven, eight, nine…_

 

“You can’t count all my freckles, Grif.”

 

“Try and stop me, Simmons.”

 

_Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…_

 

“You’ll get bored.”

 

“Never.”

 

_Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…_

 

“Hey Grif?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“…Love you.”

 

_Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…_

 

“…You too.”

 

_Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…_

**Author's Note:**

> [These gay space marines will be the death of me. Anyways, drop me a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed, have a great day!]


End file.
